Purgatory
by dirac
Summary: An ARM ship arrives at a desolate moon, and things start to get a little weird for one Sergeant... (Incomplete)
1. Default Chapter

Purgatory.  
Chapter 1: Spectres   
  
Sergeant Myers stood before the small circular porthole transfixed by the view. The sun was rising over the crystalline horizon of the moon Purgatory. Myers stepped forward slightly to enhance the view. Though the star at the heart of the system was distant, its faint aura was refracted and focused by the natural lens that was the moons surface, forming a brilliant white crescent that arched across Myers' field of vision. She raised her hand up in front of her eyes as the beam that penetrated the darkness of her quarters became more intense. This did not deter her from peering down at the jewel like celestial body between her fingers. As the moon rolled silently on its axis, it seemed to draw the sergeant in. The sight of the lonely world below filled her with awe and trepidation in equal measure. Myers' unshielded her eyes, and placed her hands against the cold metal wall, one on either side of the porthole. Gradually she began to lean towards the window. It was as if the Purgatory had reached out with a spectral hand and wrapped its icy fingers around her soul. Held by her own inexplicable intrigue, she pressed her forehead up against the glass. At that second she wanted nothing more than to set foot on the hauntingly beautiful orb. She pulled away from the window abruptly. A chill ran down the sergeant's spine, as she had actually found herself considering leaving the ship for Purgatory without the aid of drop ship or environmental suit. For the moment, much of the moon's hold over Myers was broken. But she was still finding it difficult to look away.  
  
Finally she turned away from the mute splendour of the shimmering world to return to her bunk. She paced across the small, box-like room and clambered into the alcove in the wall that served as a bed. Myers did not slide beneath the rough standard issue quilt, but instead lay on top, hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling of the alcove. Now relaxed, she pondered over how she might react when face to face with the seductive planetoid. Her mission would begin tomorrow, a routine setting up of base in preparation for a larger Arm presence. Her thoughts began to twist, distort and fade however, as she slid into a dreamless sleep.  
  
Myers' awoke. A stream of yellow light that had fallen across her face had broken her slumber. Clumsily she dragged herself to a semi-sitting position, supporting herself on her elbows. Through sleep sodden eyes she could just make out a dark figure in the doorway. As she struggled to focus on the hazy silhouette, she thought it odd that she had not heard the clunk that usually accompanied the release of the magnetic door lock. The figure seemed reluctant to give away any details of its true form. Just as Myers' thought she might be able to resolve the apparition, a sharp whistle pierced her consciousness. She winced in momentary discomfort and then opened her eyes. The figure had gone, as silently as it had arrived. She glared with bemusement at the closed doorway that was given sharp highlights by the sinister dawn that was occurring outside. Still groggy from the short period of unconsciousness, Myers began to wonder if the incident had happened at all. Wearily she let her head to drop onto the thin pillow, and allowed the soothing lullaby of the engine hum to carry her back to her slumber.  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Intuition  
  
Commander Clarke glared at the screen that was set in the thick armrest of her chair. Oblivious to the activity that buzzed all around her on the busy bridge, she observed the gentle turning of the moon Purgatory as it drifted unswervingly along its path. Cold and isolated, it seemed at first glance that as a Commander, she had much in common with this forbidding world. But Clarke felt no empathy for the moon. She viewed it with caution and suspicion. Purgatory had seen many skirmishes between the eternally struggling adversaries of the Arm and Core, but had not seen action now in over a millennia. The reason for this had been a mutual cordoning off of this world by both sides. But now those records were lost, and with no tangible evidence of danger, the Arm high Command had deemed this world fit for occupation. Clarke's instincts told her otherwise. As she gazed at Purgatory through the flat display, she couldn't help but think that there was something strange... no, something wrong about this world.   
  
Private Jeffers approached his Commander. Like a statue of chiselled marble, she sat frozen in thought. Her thickset chair was raised from the deck plates on a circular platform, the nerve centre of all that went on aboard ship. Jeffers was in awe of her. He gazed up at the pensive figure as she glared at the display at her side. He had watched this woman march to victory and go to her death with determination and dignity time and again, and hoped that at some day he could be even half the Commander she was.  
  
"Jeffers?" came stern voice, "Can I help you, Private?" It was Clarke. Jeffers had forgotten himself entirely in his hero worship. He could feel his face reddening with embarrassment. He had no idea how long he had been staring, nor did he know how long the Commander had been returning his stare.  
  
"Um. Er, yes. Um, the briefing you ordered." Jeffers stumbled over his words, "Its starts in fifteen minutes."   
  
"Very good private." Clarke replied stoically. Jeffers froze. Should he reply, or just leave? He just smiled inanely at Clarke.  
  
"You can go now, Private." Clarke said, still no hint of emotion in her voice.   
  
"Right. Thank you, Ma'am... er, Commander." The Private stuttered. He opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it a second later. He had no wish to dig himself in any deeper. He simply turned away and made for his station, a console on the right wall of the circular bridge. As he did so, he hissed to himself between his gritted teeth,  
  
"Damn it." The number of times he had seen his Commander die with honour was by far surpassed by the number of times he had made an ass of himself in front of her.   



	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Hollow Pursuit   
  
Myres strapped up her side-arm belt and straightened out her grey tunic with a firm tug. As she stood at the centre of the semi-lit room, she thought back to the odd events of the previous night. The memory was hazy and difficult to pin down, but one thing stood out in her mind, the sight of that moon. Since the moment she had woken and planted her bare feet on the cold deck plates, she had thought of almost nothing else. And the feeling she got as she beheld the eerie satellite, it was frightening. It was as if she had no care for her own well-being. The only thing that mattered was that she reached its surface. Myres shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. Opening them again she forced the air out hard, and along with it her fears of the previous night. She had a meeting to get to. She turned to the door, but did not proceed. She recalled the apparition that had occupied it a few hours ago. Another cleansing breathe, and thought was gone. Myers strode to the door with purpose. It opened with a clunk and a hiss, receding into the wall as if to avoid the determined Sergeant. Myers emerged into the corridor. Stopping in the middle of the rectangular hall way, she glanced down at the floor, and smiled. How foolish must I be to let dream terrorise me, she thought. Me, an Arm warrior. She allowed her self a little chuckle before raising her head and turning left. Myers then made her way to the briefing room.   
  
The Sergeant had been walking down the gently curving pathway for several minutes. It had been an uneventful journey thus far. She had met no other warriors on her travels, and had had only the electrical hum of the lights for company as she walked. The combination of this sombre song and the soft yellowish glow of the artificial light on the smooth bulk heads ahead were having a slightly hypnotic effect on Myers, causing her eye lids to become a great burden. However, she was soon torn from the brink of unconsciousness by a peculiar sound, a rhythmic clank of metal on metal. As the sound ricocheted between the walls of the corridor, Myers found it hard to localise its source. She stopped walking, and turned her slowly from side to side, like a radar tower zeroing in on an incoming aircraft. Scanning through another one hundred and eighty degrees, her search ended suddenly as she paused, casting a puzzled expression in the direction she had originally been travelling. The sound was fading. If she was to catch it she would have to move fast. Myers paced quickly on down the empty corridor. Her heart began to race as the walk turned into a jog. On she went, faster and faster. All her senses were heightening. The hum of the lights had become monotonous chorus, almost drowning out the beating of Myers boots on the deck plates, but not the mysterious footsteps ahead. They still resounded with perfect clarity. The jog evolved into a sprint. Myres panted, grinding her teeth as she struggled to catch the disembodied sound. Rounding the curved hall she came to a T-junction, and halted with a shallow gasp. All she saw was an ankle and a foot withdraw behind the wall. The unmistakable appendage of a Core droid body. Myres did not hesitate a second longer. She bolted for the turn in the hallway, withdrawing her sidearm simultaneously. The Sergeant ran as hard as her near petrified muscles would allow. Finally she reached the turn and stopped, her boots screeching on metallic ground as spun to face her adversary.  
  
"Hold it!" she screamed at the receding figure. It turned to face her, but Myers did not pull the trigger. "Commander?" She said softly, in a tone of total bemusement.  
  
"Sergeant, what the hell are doing?" Clarke said, staring a hole in the disoriented Sergeant Myers.  
  
"I don't know." she panted, "I thought I saw..." Then the whistling began. Myres reached for her head and grunted. This time it was painful.  
  
"Sergeant, are you alright?" Clarke asked, her outrage turning to concern.  
  
"Yes." Myers replied as the whistling faded, "Yes I'm fine. I guess I just didn't get much sleep last night."  
  
"Hmm." Clarke was sceptical of her soldiers self-diagnosis, "Maybe you should skip the meeting and go see the medic."  
  
"No commander, really, I'm fine." Myers reassured her superior as she struggled to catch her breath, "I'm just a little jumpy this morning." Clarke gave a quiet growl. She was reluctant to allow Myers to attend the meeting in her state, but as the only metallurgy specialist on the mission she would be sorely missed.  
  
"Okay." Clarke conceded. "But at the first sign of trouble you're out of there."   
  
"I'm sure I'll be alright." Myres reiterated. But as she did, she couldn't but feel she was lying.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Illusion  
  
Myers sat at the large, circular table and stared into space, letting the words and images of the briefing wash over her. She was only partially aware of the other seven soldiers and officers with whom she was sharing the tinted glass board. She could see Commander Clarke pointing and gesturing at the large digital screen that was set into the bare wall of the round briefing room, but none of what the Commander said registered with Myers. She simply rested her chin on clasped hands, and daydreamed about the odd occurrences that had plagued her in the hours since the ship had reached orbit of purgatory. Thinking about it now was like recalling events form the viewpoint of another person, as if her actions had not been her own. But a few little waking dreams were not a problem for the Sergeant, with her condition such things were not unheard of. But what had just transpired in the hallway worried Myers greatly. She had nearly killed her own Commander. But still she would not let go of the mission to Purgatory, no matter how much she knew that she should.   
  
"Sergeant Myers!" the Commanders harsh voice was like a slash of cold water.  
  
"Hmmm? Yes?" Myers said, sluggishly raising her head.  
  
"Sergeant, would you like me to repeat that for you?" Clarke scolded. Myers was now aware of the fourteen other eyes that were now fixed upon her. She did not look back.  
  
"No Commander," Myers said, trying to maintain some dignity, "That won't be necessary."   
  
" Good. Now, where were we?" Clarke asked herself, turning back to the screen that was displaying a false colour image of the metal deposits in the region where they were to set up a base. "So, with any luck, another three ships should be here within the week." Clarke began again. Myers was already slipping back into a day dream. "After the base has been fully fortified," She continued in a dry tone as Myers head started back towards her hands, "we shall be able to remove Sergeant Myers heart so she can watch us eat it before she dies." Myres almost choked on her own breath. She exploded upwards from her chair, the force of her straightening legs sending it screeching across the floor. Clarke turned sharply as the chair collided with the wall.   
  
"Is there a problem Sergeant?" She enquired in the same dry voice as she had been lecturing in. Myers couldn't believe what she was hearing.  
  
"Yes there's a problem!" She gasped, the look of horror still firmly engraved on her face. "What you just said!"  
  
"You have a problem with what I just said?" Clarke asked with a quizzical expression. "Don't you want the Arm to gain a tactical foot hold in this sector?" Myers just stared back at the Commander. Then she became aware of the other warriors in the room. Everyone's attention was fixed on her. Some were aghast, caught totally by surprise by her outburst. Others seemed quite amused at her objection. But what had she just objected to? Frightened and confused Myers began to back away from the table. Panic was threatening to overtake her as her eyes darted between each of the anonymous faces. She reached out behind herself trying to find a corner to back into like a trapped animal, but stumbled on her own toppled chair. Then the whistling returned. Her right hand shot up to her temple.  
  
"Sergeant!" Clarke exclaimed, "Sergeant! Can you hear me?!" Myers could not. The whistling was far worse than before. It had become a horrible, otherworldly shriek. Just as Myers thought she may lose consciousness, the sound subsided. She looked up to see the other officers all on their feet. They to now carried a frightened expression.  
  
"Sergeant," Clarke said, now on the same side o the table as Myers, "Are Yo-o-o-u-u a-a-a-l-l-..." Myers listened in horror as the Commanders voice stretched and warped, and then stopped all together. Then all those with whom she had shared the room turned to dust before her eyes, and their granular remains melted into the air. The room was now empty but for the furniture and the petrified sergeant. The soft yellow light that had bathed the room turned to a cool grey, and the hum of the engines fell silent. Myers began head for the door, but she was finding it hard to move. The temperature in the room was plummeting with every second that passed. Myers fought every frozen joint in her body, and finally reached the door. But it refused to open. She beat upon the jammed portal with opened palms, but it did not yield to her futile attack. It was becoming painful to even touch the cold metal. But just as Myers was about to surrender to her monochromatic prison, a sound caught her attention. There was an intermittent fizzing emanating from behind her. The sound was coupled with a second sensation, the feeling of another presence that now accompanied her own. Ceasing her assault on the indifferent door, she turned slowly to face whatever it was that now also occupied the frigid cell. Shivering from the cold and the dread, Myers had to use every ounce of her will to keep from closing her eyes to block out any malevolent apparition that she might behold. She was met with nothing but the same objects that had been there before. She scanned the room with an anguished expression. Still there was nothing.   
  
"Show yourself, damn it." She rasped, her breath crystallising in the icy atmosphere. It was then that she isolated the source of the sound. The screen that had shown the image of the metal deposits was now alive with static. Black streaks chased each other the crackling snow of interference. Suddenly, the screen turned black, plunging the room back into a forbidding silence. Myers paced cautiously towards the dead display, the rubber sole of her boots pealing away from the glacial deck plates with each laboured step. As she reached the console something began to appear on the screen, a familiar sight emerging from the darkness. The image of Purgatory. The look of fright that had adorned the visage of the sergeant turned to one of chilling intrigue. The moon occupied the upper half of the display, and as the light of the sun broke across its horizon, a sweeping arch was formed that resembled a hideous grin. Myers reached for the screen, no longer concerned with her bazaar predicament. Once again the strange little world had cast its spell over her. But before her frozen fingers could make contact with , it was gone. She gave a short gasp of surprise, forming a tiny cloud of vapour that billowed and dissolved into nothingness. Myers gazed bemused at the screen, but as she did so, something else in the room changed. The air turned bitter in her mouth. Myers began to cough and wheeze violently, and within moments it was as if her lungs were on fire. Consumed by the agony, Myers slumped against the wall and slid to the ground. Then, the whistling resumed...  
  
"Sergeant!" Clarke barked, "Sergeant, can you hear me!" The commander was crouched over the stricken sergeant Myers, who lay on the ground twitching violently. The rest of the officers were stood back from the scene awaiting the arrival of the medics. They were all dumb struck. Even the most experienced of them had never seen a soldier succumb to such an episode. Neither had the Commander, and the sight of Myers squirming helplessly on the briefing room floor was one that frightened even her.   



	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Flaw  
  
The chief medic stood before Myers examining the data on a hand held console, stroking his chin as he did. His back was turned slightly towards the sergeant making it difficult for her to see his expression. From her position sitting on a treatment table, she craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse of the small screen. Her attempts were thwarted by the brilliant white glare of the infirmary lights on the glass. She relaxed back into the foam padding of the table and looked around the infirmary. Myers had been sitting there for a couple of hours while the medics had performed a number of tests, and she was becoming bored to say the least. The surroundings were hardly stimulating. Myers had inspected every inch of the bland room from her perch, and did not saver the prospect of beginning again. But she had little choice, as she was under orders not to leave the infirmary until the data from the tests had been fully assessed. Myers already had a good idea of what the conclusion would be. They would simply assume that the episodes were a result of an unusual flaw in her genetic make-up, otherwise known as flaw 213-b.   
  
213-b, an alphanumeric sequence that had marked the sergeant since her first cloning. A condition that gave the subject a higher perception. It had given Myers some trouble before, headaches, blackouts and such, but only in unusual circumstances, and nothing of quite this magnitude. 213-b had its fair share of advantages too, but these meant little to Myers who had always feared that the flaw might one day threaten her mental well-being. But her pleas to the High command to have the flaw remedied had fallen on deaf ears. 'The minor discomfort of a single clone is of no concern', had been the only reply she had received. After that she had had little choice but to ride out any problems she encountered. Headaches and blackouts she could handle, but now her sanity seemed to be at stake, a situation she had hoped never to face.  
  
Myers was brought back from her pondering by the hiss of the infirmary doors as they receded into the walls. Commander Clarke entered the room.  
  
The metal doors parted before the commander. As Clarke entered the infirmary the smell of the air changed noticeably. The warm, processed atmosphere of the corridor gave way to the cool, sterilised air of the sick bay. Like most Commanders, she was not comfortable in this environment and usually spent as little time in it as possible. Ahead were the chief medic, poring over a hand held console, and Sergeant Myers, sitting patiently, waiting to be dismissed. They both noticed the Commander simultaneously.   
  
"Commander." The medic called over to Clarke, "May I speak with you?" Clarke gave a nod of acknowledgement, and strode across the room.   
  
"I've done a number of tests," The medic began on her arrival, "And I believe I have a reason for the sergeants strange episodes. As you Know, Sergeant Myers is afflicted with flaw 213-b." Clarke was aware of this. In fact, it was for the most part the reason that se kept Myers close. The Commander used her perception as a gauge for her own well honed instincts. " I believe that the unusual magnetic properties of the moon's crystalline surface has agitated the part of the brain affected by the flaw." Clarke took a glance at the Sergeant. As suspected, she seemed not to be surprised by the medic's conclusion. "I have already administered a suppressant to quell the effects," he continued, "But I would recommend that the Sergeant does not go on the mission to the moon's surface." This time there was a noticeable change on the sergeants face. She looked disappointed, even angered by the medic's suggestion. She glared at the medic for a couple of seconds, the turned her attention to the Commander.  
  
"Commander!" she exclaimed, "You can't take off the mission! I... I'm the only metallurgist you have! You need me!" Clarke was taken aback by Myers outburst, but did her best to appear unmoved.   
  
"Sergeant, you will do as the Medic suggests. Corporal Leopold has some metallurgy field training, he should be able to function adequately in your place." She stated, "Return to your quarters and remain there until told otherwise. Dismissed."  
  
"But Commander, I..."  
  
"Dismissed!" Clarke cut off Myers' protest. The disgruntled Myers cast a piercing glare at the medic, and then back at Clarke. She then submitted to superior numbers. Myers slid down from the table, and marched between her two adversaries towards the door. Clarke looked on as she stormed through the infirmary doors almost to fast for them to anticipate. It seemed very odd that she would be this adamant about going on what was essentially a routine mission. This was just one more item on an ever growing list of odd behaviour on the part of the sergeant since the ship had reached Purgatory. Clarke waited until the doors had closed behind Myers, then turned back to face the medic.  
  
"Alright." Clarke said, catching him by surprise as he was returning to the data on his console, "You've given Sergeant Myers her explanation, now I want mine." Clarke could sense that the medic had not been totally forthcoming. She knew that there was something he had not wanted to discuss in front of the Sergeant, but she would not be kept in the dark. The medic turned to her, and sighed deeply before he spoke.  
  
"You understand, this is something I did not want to discuss in the Sergeant's presence." He said grimly.  
  
"Continue." Clarke replied. The medic lay the hand-held console on the treatment table, and folded his arms.   
  
"When we first brought Sergeant Myers in," he began, "we noticed some... unusual symptoms. You are aware of the nature of her hallucination in the briefing room?" Clarke gave a single nod. She had given a full report on Myers' description of her delusion whilst awaiting the full medical report. "Well, on closer examination, we found that there was real tissue damage consistent with extreme low temperatures, and some severe respiratory trauma." Clarke's usually stone-cold expression now hinted at surprise. She fully understood now why the medic had kept this information from Myers. If it was enough to unsettle the commander, it might just have pushed the Sergeant over the edge.  
  
"Your saying she was injured by her hallucination?" she enquired.  
  
  
"To all intents and purposes, yes." the medic replied.  
  
  
"But how is that possible?" Clarke asked.  
  
  
"I couldn't say. The mind is an enigma to say the least, and in sergeant Myers case the presence of the flaw reduces our understanding of its workings still further. But the presence of tissue damage was not the strangest thing." Clarke frowned, sceptical of how this situation could become anymore bazaar. "The damage we found was identical to that which would be observed if the subject were exposed to the atmosphere of Purgatory." This was disturbing. Clarke looked over her shoulder at the door through which Myers had just departed. The commander had found herself looking on as her fears about the malevolent nature of this place were becoming a reality.  



	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Portent  
  
  
Myers sat on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands. She was deeply dismayed about being taken off the Purgatory mission. This was distressing for her as she had no idea why she felt this way. Myers raised her head and gazed at the porthole on the other side of the bland little room. The ship was now facing away from Purgatory, and all that could be seen now was the sparkling tapestry of deep space. As she searched for solace among the glittering splendour of the cosmos, Myers contemplated how she would cope with remaining on the ship when it touched down on the moon's surface.   
  
  
A shrill buzz interrupted Myers' train of thought. It was the door buzzer. Myers' sighed deeply, and tried to compose herself before greeting the visitor.  
  
  
"Come in." She said with purpose. She waited a few seconds, but no one entered. The buzzer sounded again.   
  
  
"Come in!" Myers barked, becoming frustrated. Still the visitor did not accept the invitation. When the buzzer sounded for the third time, Myers' hoisted herself from the bed with an angry huff and approached the door. She reached for the small red panel to the right of the doorway and struck it with three fingers. The door did not open. Myers struck the panel again, and again. Still the door remained in place. Myers was becoming nervous. She drummed repeatedly on the door panel trying to elicit a response, but to no avail. The door buzzer sounded again, but this time it did not subside. The relentless lament filled the air within the claustrophobic chamber. Myers' began to back away from the doorway, her stomach turning as she realised that, once again, something was amiss.  
  
  
"Hello!" she called, "Who's there? Whoever that is, this isn't funny!" But this was no joke. The lights in Myers' quarters began to flicker, plunging the room in and out of inky darkness, then they died. Myers continued to back away, harassed mercilessly through the impenetrable gloom by the wail of the buzzer. Her heart leapt into her throat as she collided with a solid cold mass. It was the wall. As the petrified sergeant stood motionless in total visual deprivation, the sound of the buzzer began to change. The pitch began to fall, gradually turning the shrill wail into a slow, monotonous groan. The new sound now forced itself upon Myers' senses. A horrible, sombre sound, it was like the howl of tormented souls crying for salvation. Myers' heart almost stopped as a voice emerged from the din.   
  
  
"It loooks li-i-i-ike yo-o-u-u-'re g-o-o-i-i-ng o-o-o-n the mi-i-isssion a-a-after a-a-alll." It said in a horrid, uneven drone. It was then replaced almost instantly by a sharp whistling. Myers grabbed her head on either side, grimacing as she was consumed by the pain.  
  
  
The whistling finally abated, and Myers' released her head from the vice like grip. She looked up to find the lights were back on, and that the buzzing had ceased. She then rested her throbbing head on her sweat soaked hands and sighed deeply. Whatever the medic had done to help her clearly hadn't worked. Myers jumped with fright as the magnetic lock released and the door moved aside with a quiet hiss. Now deeply suspicious, Myers paced warily across the room, listening hard for any further phantasmal sounds that might emerge above the cacophony of her own heavy breathing. With extreme caution, she stepped out into the corridor, and was greeted by the rapid beating of footsteps coming from her right. She looked down the corridor to see two men dressed in grey jump-suits, each carrying a white case, running flat out towards her. As they drew closer, Myers recognised them as the chief medic and one of his staff. Neither of the two said a word, either to each other or to Myers. They simply sprinted down the gently curving hallway to whatever emergency that awaited them at their journey's end. A cool gust of air flowed over Myers as the medics ran past in front of her. Overtaken by morbid curiosity, and the awful feeling that this may involve her, Myers left the doorway of her quarters and began to jog steadily down the corridor after the two healers.  
  
  
Myers had been running for several minutes, following the sound of the medics' footfalls to the scene of the emergency. But now the footsteps had fallen silent. Myers was getting close, and could feel the beating of her heart increasing with each step she took towards her destination. Myers made a right turn down a narrow section of corridor with doors every few yards of its length along its smooth metal walls. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Commander Clarke and a young private standing either side of an open door. Myers walked cautiously down the hall, all the time anticipating a harsh reaction to her presence from the commander, but it never came. The commander was staring through the doorway with a grim expression, and the young private, also staring into the room, stood with his eye-brows raised and his jaw hanging, visibly shocked by the scene. As Sergeant Myers drew up along side them, Clarke gave her a sideways glance, but said nothing. She then returned her attention to the contents of the room. Following Clarke's example, Myers also turned her gaze into the darkened room. The interior of the chamber was pitch black. Nothing within the room was visible but for an awkward rectangular patch of light that fell across a grisly spectacle. The two medics were crouched over the half-visible corpse of corporal Leopold. The body lay prostrate, the torso reaching out from the darkness to the left of the onlookers. The blood shot eyes were wide open, staring mindlessly into oblivion. The head lay sideways on in a lake of blood whose source was a crimson cascade that tumbled from between ice blue lips. The chief medic looked up from his gruesome charge towards the commander.  
  
  
"Collapsed lungs, ruptured blood vessels," he said, listing the symptoms, "all consistent with rapid decompression of his surroundings." He then looked up at Myers. "It looks like you're going on the mission after all." Myers blood ran cold.   



	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Retrospect   
  
  
Myers never usually faced the window whilst in the mess hall, but at that moment she found the cold stare of the planetoid more comforting than the company of her own kind. From behind her came the usual bland hum of numerous conversations. The monotonous vocalisations of her fellows blurred into a single, colourless dirge of which Myers was only vaguely aware. Even her peripheral vision had become a grey haze, framing that which she had thought of almost constantly since she had first set eyes upon it. Myers clasped a cold cup of coffee between her hands as she stared out the large, rectangular window that sprawled out across much of the cool, grey wall. The tepid, brown fluid was whipped into a small tempest by the shuddering of the sergeant's body. The auburn waves crashed against the shear plastic cliffs of the coffee mug, sending a spray of liquid over the edge and down onto Myers' tensed fingers. She did pay the surf any heed. Her thoughts lay elsewhere.   
  
  
It was dormant now. Whatever spectre had been using the foreboding crystalline surface of the moon as a façade was at rest. This is what Myers believed, that the entity that had haunted her since her arrival had dispatched the unfortunate corporal Leopold in order to assure her presence on the surface of Purgatory. The demise of her replacement had disturbed her greatly, and the fact that she was warned of this only seconds before it had occurred. But still, through the shock, and through the fear, one desire still overshadowed all other feelings. She had to reach Purgatory, now more than ever. The spirit of this world had reached out and struck down one who might have stood in her way, and though she was appalled by it, this was what drove Myers on. It longed for her presence as much as she yearned to be with it. It had awoken a dark part of her soul, a part of herself that she had feared. Through the flaw that she had despised, it had spoken. Myers now knew that it was not her ailing sanity that was to blame for her episodes, but link to the moon below.   
  
  
There was a sudden shift in the attitude of the ship. A little of Myers' coffee leapt from its container and sprawled itself across the lustrous metal surface of the table. Myers looked away from the window, her attention caught by the groaning of the centuries old hull of the spacecraft, sounding almost reluctant to approach the imposing satellite. The ship's position was being altered in preparation for landing. Myers turned back to the window, and looked down upon Purgatory one last time. The next time she beheld its faceted surface, they would be together.   
  
  
Jeffers stood at his console, studiously examining the stream of data that was being delivered to him by the ship's sensors. As he watched the columns of white numbers dribbling down the screen, his mind began to wander from his assigned task. The grotesque sight of Leopold's lifeless body, grasping for the light from the darkness of his quarters, had been playing on his mind. As a warrior of the Arm, Private Jeffers was no stranger to death. The grim spectre had hung ominously over every mission he had been on. But there was something about the way Leopold had met his fate, alone and without purpose, struggling desperately for air as the blood boiled within his veins. A far cry from the quick, clean death of a unit explosion. Jeffers cringed. He couldn't bare to imagine it. He wondered whether the corporal's next incarnation would be allowed to remember that torturous experience.   
  
  
His console emitted a shrill beep. The equipments piercing voice was alerting him to the slight attitude adjusted that would need to be made before the ship's descent into the moons sparse atmosphere. With little thought, Jeffers' spider like fingers crawled quickly across the touch sensitive screen, making the slightest of changes to the ships position. Looking up once more from his task, he glanced discretely over his shoulder. There he saw the Commander. She was sat back in her chair, not studying the crew roster, or a sensor readout, but simply staring. Not at anything in particular. This unsettled Jeffers. He had never seen Commander Clarke like this. He turned back to the trickle of numbers that he had been manipulating earlier, and attempted to set back about his duties. As he did, he thought to himself; What I wouldn't give to know what she's thinking.   
  
  
Clarke stared into space. She had spent the last hour trying to numb herself to what had transpired in the last day, but she was finding it difficult to maintain her usual unbreakable resolve. The mission had not yet begun, and already, she had one dead soldier, and one mentally unstable. Her pleas to the High Command to abort the mission had been turned down. A Core convoy had entered the sector, and the priority of the mission had been doubled. A few 'minor set backs' like those suffered were hardly worth the loss of a world to the Core in the Command's estimation. It seemed to Clarke that the one great advantage of this cloned army was, for her crew, becoming its greatest weakness. Everyone's so damned expendable. As far as the Commander was concerned, her sixth sense about the foul nature of this place had been all but proven. And through all the turmoil, the chaos and suffering, Clarke could feel it watching, and mocking, rolling in silent hysterics through the vacuum of space. She hated it.  



End file.
